‘Well done,’ muttered Corax. ‘Shout as loud as you can now, and advance with me.’
Quintus let out the most ferocious scream and took a step forward. Beside him, Corax stepped over the dead chieftain. ‘Your leader is dead, you scum!’ he yelled. ‘The same’s going to happen to you!’
The warrior whom Quintus had been fighting looked dismayed. Encouraged, Quintus clattered his sword off his shield and bellowed insults at him. The Gaul glanced uncertainly at his comrades. Moved back a pace. Then another.
‘CHARGE!’ Corax sprang forward like a hound let off the leash.
Quintus followed him out of instinct. From the corner of his eye, he sensed Urceus scrambling to join them. Thank all the gods.
The nearest Gauls broke and ran. From that moment, it was like watching the tide beginning to turn. Dismayed by their comrades’ about-face, the entire group of warriors turned and fled for the main body of Carthaginian troops. Eager to press home their advantage, the hastati pursued them, hacking down a good number before they reached safety. Quintus stabbed one warrior in the back, his blade grating off the man’s spine and dropping him like a puppet with cut strings. His victim’s shrieks were piteous, and he slowed to give him the death stroke.
‘Back! Back!’ roared Corax.
Quintus raised his arm. He had time.
‘Pull back, I said.’ Corax grabbed his right arm, pinning him with his gaze.
‘I was going to finish this one off, sir.’
‘Leave him.’
‘Sir, I-’
‘He wouldn’t do the same for you. Besides, his screams will put off his comrades. Come on.’
There was no gainsaying his centurion. Asking Pluto to take the man quickly, Quintus trotted back to their original position. Corax moved about, bellowing at men to withdraw, slapping them on the back with the flat of his sword if they didn’t hear or immediately obey. ‘Re-form the line,’ he shouted over and over.
It wasn’t long before they had regrouped. The hastati had lost three men, but more than a dozen Gauls lay on the ground, dead or with grievous wounds that would see them to the underworld. Exhilarated by their success, the legionaries grinned at one another, boasted about what they’d done, gave thanks to their favourite gods. Quintus felt proud of the way he’d fought. He looked for the warrior he’d injured in the charge and was relieved that he seemed to have stopped moving. The big man whose foot he’d cut was also visible, in the lines opposite. Seeing him, Quintus made an obscene gesture, which was returned, but with less gusto than his. His confidence swelled. ‘I’ll kill him next time.’
‘Who?’ Urceus’ voice.
‘The big fucker who was with the chieftain. I only wounded him just now.’
‘Suddenly keen, aren’t you?’ Urceus thumped the side of his scutum off that of Quintus.
‘It feels good to have driven some of them back.’
‘And we’ll do it again,’ interrupted Corax. He gave Quintus an approving nod. ‘My thanks for skewering that chieftain. That’s what broke them.’
Quintus grinned self-consciously. ‘I did my bit, sir.’
‘Keep doing that.’ Corax was about to say more, when he saw something over Quintus’ shoulder. He stiffened to attention. ‘Sir!’
‘At ease, centurion,’ said a voice. ‘No one is to salute. I don’t want the enemy to see me just yet.’
Quintus turned, catching a hate-filled stare from Macerio. He ignored it, mainly because he was stunned by the sight of an officer clad in a general’s red cloak approaching through the ranks. It was the proconsul Servilius Geminus, the commander of their entire centre. A score of hard-faced triarii, his guards, stood a little distance back. ‘Sir!’ Quintus said in a low voice. Urceus and their companions were quick to echo him.
Servilius smiled as he passed by. ‘You are Centurion. .?’
‘Corax, sir, centurion of hastati in what was Longus’ First Legion.’
‘What’s the situation here?’
Corax explained. Servilius looked pleased. ‘I’ve been looking for a place to lead a full-frontal attack. The two maniples to your left have also done well. If we join together, the rest of the front line will follow. One big push, and I think the Gauls will break. Are your men ready to help achieve that, do you think?’
‘Of course, sir!’ growled Corax.
‘Good. Make your preparations. I’m returning to what will be our centre. That’s where the maniple to your immediate left is positioned. When I’m in place, I’ll give you the signal.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Corax’s smile was lean and hungry. The instant that Servilius had slipped away, he rounded on the hastati. ‘You heard the general. You’ve fought bravely thus far, lads, but this is our chance! No one will forget the soldiers who turned the guggas at Cannae. Who began the rout that saw Hannibal defeated once and for all.’
‘We’re with you, sir,’ said Quintus eagerly.
‘All of us,’ added Urceus.
A rumble of acknowledgement from the rest, and Corax nodded with satisfaction. ‘In that case, be ready for Servilius’ signal. At his command, unleash hell!’
They would smash the Gauls, thought Quintus. After what they’d just done, he felt sure of it. He prayed that his father and Calatinus were faring as well on the right flank, and that if Gaius were here, that he was playing his part on the left flank. The enemy cavalry had to be contained.
As long as that happened, he and the rest of the infantry could do the rest.
Chapter XVIII
The fighting had been going on for a long time before it became evident that the centre of the Carthaginian line was going to crumble and break. Immense credit was due to the Gauls and Iberians, thought Hanno. They must have been dying in their hundreds since battle was joined, yet they had held and held when, normally, they might have cracked. Hannibal and Mago’s presence must have helped, but their accomplishment had also involved considerable bravery. Eventually, however, the pressure of so many legionaries pressing forward began to take its toll. Hanno was scrutinising the proceedings like a hawk and spotted the warriors in the rear ranks some distance away beginning to waver. The men nearer to hand remained where they were, chanting and hammering their weapons off their shields, but not those in the centre, upon whom the burden of the enemy attack would fall when their fellows in front entirely gave way. Even as he watched, a handful of Gauls backed ten steps or so from the main body of soldiers. They stood, faces uncertain and a little ashamed, but almost at once they were joined by half a dozen more men. A heartbeat later, another larger group left the rear ranks, which doubled their numbers in one go.
‘Look,’ Hanno said to Mutt.
‘I see them, sir.’
It was like watching sheep trying to get away from the shepherd, thought Hanno. No one individual will make a move until it sees that another will do the same. A group forms; they look about to see which way is best. They dither for a bit, and then some of them make a run for it. The instant that happens, the whole flock joins in and the process becomes a stampede. In the time it had taken him and Mutt to exchange two sentences, a score more warriors had retreated. Hanno’s fear that the Romans would break through vied with a frisson of exhilaration that, crazy as it was, Hannibal’s plan appeared to be working. ‘At least they’re not running,’ he observed. ‘We’d best be ready all the same. Cuttinus will be giving us the signal to move any moment. Have the men turn to our right and face inward.’